


Making a home

by ferowyn



Series: Hobbit Kink [5]
Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbofur - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferowyn/pseuds/ferowyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything that goes down in the Lonely Mountain and the grief has settled, the dwarves are just happy to be home. All except for Bofur, who... for some reason, can't quite feel content. He still doesn't feel like he belongs. Not entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt:  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/702.html?thread=436414#t436414
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes, English is not my mother tongue

# Making a Home

Erebor is everything a dwarf can dream of, and more. There are wide halls, great forges, productive mines and a never ending number of tunnels, big and small, like a network of veins in the Lonely Mountain. The dwarves of the line of Durin are coming back and the kingdom is returning to its former glory. Those of the company who have survived the Battle of Five Armies have been mourning the dead for a very long time and still there is a cruel emptiness in their hearts whenever they think of Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, and his nephews, Fili and Kili. They all find their way back to everyday life, though, all of them except for Bofur.

He does not feel at home here, in Erebor, in the kingdom he has left the Blue Mountains for, the kingdom he has put himself in danger for, the kingdom Thorin, Fili and Kili have given their lives for. He had been very fond of the two youngest members of the company, they had often shared a good laugh and he had helped them whenever possible. He still remembers the look on Kili’s face, whom they had found lying across his brother’s body, clinging to his armour, their blood already cold. He assumes that Fili had died protecting his uncle and that Kili had seen him fall, for nothing else could explain the despair in the younger brother’s open eyes.

Bofur knows, the others have moved on, but he is stuck here, in his memories. For every delicate column, every glowing gold vein and every sparkling gem there is a memory, dark and gruesome, that keeps him from enjoying Erebor’s beauty.  
He does not feel complete, has not felt complete ever since their company has broken apart. He misses every single one of them, be they dead, in Moria or simply working in another place and there is one whom he misses most. He has promised his brother not to go after him a long time ago. Even during their adventure Bombur had seen his glances cast at the hobbit and asked him not to court him, partly because he had feared to see his brother broken and partly because he had not wanted him to leave for the Shire. Bofur had complied, but the head cannot meddle with the matters of the heart and the dwarf has never been able to forget the hobbit.  
Although they do tend to fall for each other very easily dwarves only love once in their lives with all of their heart and soul and not too few of them end up with a broken heart and the knowledge that they will never find anybody else until they die.

Bofur knows, Bombur had hoped he had not given his heart and soul, that it would only be a puppy love, but it had already been long too late back then. The dwarf had agreed not to court Bilbo Baggins none the less, for he had seen the way the hobbit had been looking at Thorin and he had decided that guessing was better than knowing. After all, it did not destroy your hopes and dreams completely. Now, however, he has no hopes and dreams left, they have perished along with his king. Thus he decides to ignore his brother’s consult and to go for the Shire, to break his promise, to make sure the Halfling has returned home safely, and to go and have his heart broken. It does no longer matter.

\---

It is surprisingly easy to find the hobbit hole he is looking for, compared to the last time, and this day there is no sign on the door. He has left Erebor in the dead of night, barely giving his brother and cousin a chance to bid him farewell, for he had not wanted them to try and talk him out of coming here.

He arrives in the late afternoon but keeps standing in front of the garden gate for what could be hours, not daring to call attention to himself. Finally he gathers all his courage, though, and walks up to the door, rings the bell. He can hear the bright, clear voice of a young child, calling “I’ll answer the door” and running feet. Bofur flinches. _Sounds like he_ is _happy_ , he thinks and dullness starts to creep into his chest, slowing down his heart. The door opens and there is a young boy – he cannot tell whether the child is still a toddler by hobbit standards or not – looking at him with big, round eyes, soft black locks curling around his face.

“Uncle Bilbo!” the child shouts and Bofur feels the weight that had settled on his mind only moments ago lift. “It’s a stranger, and he’s got a moustache and an odd hat!”

“Frodo” he hears somebody rave and his heart starts to race “this was _very_ impolite! Apologise, immediately!” The voice is coming closer.

“I’m sorry.” The small boy’s eyes widen and he looks like a beaten puppy, even the tiny pointed ears hanging a little. Bofur hardly deigns him a look, however, staring into the direction the voice has come from. And then there he is, apparently not having changed at all. His eyes widen but then a huge smile lights up his face. “Bofur! What are you doing here? Come in, come in! You’re just in time for dinner!”

The corners of the dwarf’s mouth are twitching and he sees the same amusement in Bilbo’s face when they both remember what has happened the last time Master Baggins has let a dwarf into his house and pantry.

Bilbo leads him to the dining room, the child trailing along behind them and eyeing him curiously. “Please sit down and make yourself comfortable, just give me a few minutes to go and get some of the ham, since I assume you will prefer it to a vegetable stew? Frodo, sit down, too, I’ll be right there!” he orders and scoots into the direction of the pantry (Bofur remembers its location very clearly). He returns after a few minutes, carrying a plate with ham, cheese, bacon and a huge loaf of bread. “Bon appétit!”

Although Bofur is not really hungry he digs his teeth into the meat and bread, wistfully thinking of the merry feast they had enjoyed so many years ago, when they had left for Erebor.  
He does not feel Bilbo’s concerned gaze upon him, but he hears the child whisper: “Uncle, who is he?”

Bilbo chuckles softly. “This, Frodo, is a good old friend of mine, very dear to me.” Bofur forces a smile – ‘good old friend’ is better than nothing, isn’t it? – and even swallows before he holds out his hand. “Bofur, it’s an honour to meet you”, he greets and Bilbo’s eyebrows disappear beneath his soft curls.

Frodo blushes and giggles and takes his hand, shakes it enthusiastically. “I’m Frodo”, he chirps and takes a few seconds to look at Bofur, cocks his head. “You aren’t a hobbit!” he claims.

This time Bofur’s smile is honest. “No, I’m a dwarf, lad.”

Frodo’s eyes widen. “A dwarf!” he repeats full of astonishment “I have never seen one!”

“Well”, Bilbo chuckles “you aren’t really old yet, aren’t you?” Frodo pouts and Bilbo smiles at him fondly. “He is my late sister’s son”, he explains to Bofur, before returning his attention to his nephew. “Do you remember the story I told you? The one about the big adventure?”

“With the dragon!”, Frodo exclaims, his eyes sparkling.

“Exactly. Then surely you have not forgotten about the thirteen dwarves who dragged me with them across Middle-Earth?”

“Of course”, Frodo beams, failing to hear Bofur’s muttered interjection: “Dragged? If I remember correctly ye came runnin’ after us!”

Bilbo grins. “Well, Bofur here is one of them.” Bofur almost blushes underneath the amazed gaze of the young hobbit and Bilbo chuckles lowly. “Anyway, it’s bed time for you, little fellow. Bofur, make yourself comfortable in the living room, will you? I’ll be right back.”

The dwarf nods, sits down in front of the fire place and lights up his pipe. He almost thinks he can hear the deep voice of Thorin, singing about the treasure under the mountain. He almost loses himself in the memory until he is startled by Bilbo’s cheerful question: “So, what are you doing here?” and there is a sparkle in his eyes that makes Bofur’s chest tighten.

“I’m restless”, he admits. “Erebor is too big and too lonely without Thorin, Fili, Kili and you.”

Bilbo smiles sadly, but only moments later his face lightens up again. “Well, you are welcome stay here as long as you like!” Bofur is about to answer that he will leave soon, that he only wanted to make sure Bilbo is okay, when he realises that all the tension has left his body. Sitting in front of that fireplace, smoking, and talking to the hobbit whom he knows so well and has missed so much soothes the pain in his soul and makes him feel at peace.

“Thank you”, he answers and there is so much gratitude in these simple words that Bilbo has to gulp heavily.

They talk until late at night and when the fire has almost burned down and Bilbo’s features are glowing in the dim light there is finally a darkness in his eyes, the same darkness that Bofur has found in his own heart. “I… I miss you, all of you”, the hobbit admits. “Every day.”

“So do I”, Bofur answers, unable to ban the melancholy from his voice.

“Well, you are here now, and that makes everything better.” Bilbo smiles weakly. “We should probably go to bed.”

“We should”, Bofur agrees but neither of them makes a move to do so and after many minutes of comfortable silence they fall asleep in front of the fire place and for the first time in years the dwarf can sleep without destructive dreams straining his soul.

\---

The next morning they are woken by Frodo’s clear voice. “Uncle”, he chirps “I’m hungry. Why didn’t you wake me? Why did you sleep in the living room? And Master Bofur is still here! Why did you sleep with your hat on?”

“’Course I am, where else would I be?” the dwarf mutters blearily and had it not been for his still closed eyes he would have seen the broad smile on Bilbo’s face.

“He never takes it off”, the hobbit answers his nephew’s second question concerning their guest, takes a look at the great grandfather clock in the corner and startles. “So late already! Quickly, Frodo, get dressed, and I’ll prepare breakfast. You are supposed to meet with young Peregrin Took in half an hour!”

Frodo darts of and Bofur watches the man scurry around the house hurriedly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Bilbo raises an eyebrow. “I have not forgotten your cooking skills, or rather your lack of them”, he answers. “You think you are able to heat the milk without letting it scorch?”  
Bofur grumbles something incomprehensible but goes into the kitchen none the less. “What am I supposed to do?”

The hobbit rolls his eyes. “Stir it”, he answers and leaves the dwarf alone with the milk. Bofur takes great care of it, desperate to prove himself useful and when Bilbo comes back there is a huge grin on his face. “Looks like you are not as hopeless as I had thought! Just wait and see, I’ll teach you how to cook”, and Bofur’s heart skips a beat. That sounds like Bilbo really does not mind him staying for a very long time…

\---

Cooking can be much more fun than Bofur had ever expected, along with gardening, doing the laundry and the washing up, watering the pot plants and – much to his surprise – cleaning. But, he assumes, everything can be fun when you are doing it with the right person. After a few weeks he is able to cook a proper meal, including soup, starter, main course and dessert. Of course the journey to Erebor has taught him that hobbits enjoy a good meal even more than dwarves do and that they like to eat as often as possible, yet he is a little overwhelmed when Bilbo tells him about all the mealtimes and the differences between them. It does not take him long to get used to that, though. Bilbo says he loves cooking and he is really happy about the fact that he can make much bigger portions now (Bofur eats more than both of the hobbits combined) and that it is more fun to cook for someone else and not just for yourself. Bofur realizes he is quite right about everything and he also realizes that cooking can be even more fun when you do it together.

By now he knows how to grow potatoes and aubergines and carrots and tomatoes and although it may be dirty and exhausting he actually enjoys digging in the earth and chasing after weeds like he has once chased after orcs.

He learns how to do the laundry, how to get rid of all the stains (especially those in Frodo’s clothes, who seems to be dirty all the time) and which soap to use in order to make the cloth feel as soft as possible. _Yes_ , he remembers, smiling, _hobbits indeed are very keen on comfortable clothing_.

The dishes are not really a problem, he had had to do them often enough during their journey, but he is surprised how much fun something that he once despised that much can be. Quite often they end up splashing the water at each other, trying their very best to flood the kitchen.

Furthermore, he knows every single pot plant in Bag End, how much water they need, and how often. He has even given them names (Petula and Rosamunde and Irene) but he does not dare tell that anyone, for he does not want to give Bilbo a reason to laugh about him.

And, last but not least, he was quick to learn how to dust or scrub the floor. At first he only did it in the desperate attempt to please Bilbo, but soon he began to enjoy it – enjoy feeling at home. And soon Bilbo and Frodo could no longer imagine Bag end without their personal dwarf.  
Something else has changed, too: It began with little gestures, with sneaking looks, and it ended with Bofur moving from the guest room to Bilbo’s bed room, Frodo barely noticing it.

Many an evening Bilbo and Bofur spend sitting in front of the fire place, smoking, Bofur’s arm around his hobbit’s shoulders and his hat on the curly hair, talking or enjoying the silence. And Bofur knows: This is where he belongs.


End file.
